The Tail of an Elf
by Argentcoeur
Summary: A young woodelf is part cat, thanks to a spell a wizard put on her. Discontinued
1. The Curse

**Disclaimer: I own only Nyla. The ainmhi belong to whoever created the mod, and Oblivion belongs to whoever is sitting in front of their computer creating the next Elder Scrolls.**

Slaves of each race screamed as the form-changing spell hit them. Some died simply because the strain of the magic was too much for their old hearts. Many of the younger died after their bodies had twisted in ways one could not imagine. A lucky few only had their forms changed to exactly what the master wanted it to be.

Young Nyla could do nothing but watch as her master tortured the other slaves. Her sapphire eyes glistened with tears and she was on the verge of screaming. But she dared not cry out; for she knew that if she did, the master would surely turn on her.

Her master, the wizard, turned to Nyla's mother, and raised his hands to cast the spell. The elf whimpered and curled up in a fetal position. The wizard laughed, and began his casting. The shout of another elf did not escape his notice.

Within a few seconds, the elf's face was twisted in a look of horror. Large tufts of grey fur sprouted from her body, and her limbs were in the strange shape of a cat's.

The wizard turned to his favorite slave: Nyla.

"Nyla," he cooed, slowly walking over the bodies of the others. He tilted his head to the side, "little elf, favored slave among countless others. I have always wondered what my spell would do to your genes."

Nyla, who had been about to run, froze. She knew what he was talking about. Because he liked her best, her master had infused her blood with some unstable magical properties.

The wizard grinned, seeing as he had hit a weak mark. "Now, what will you do? Run and I'll hunt you down. Stay and I'll curse you."

The woodelf fumbled against the wall, searching for something, anything, to fight with. They were in a crypt; one of these coffins had to have some weapon in them.

Her skin brushed something cold and metal. A dagger! Her hand closed on the prickly hilt, and hid it behind her back.

Her master continued walking toward her, hands rising. His mouth began shaping the words, and Nyla didn't have time to react as the spell hit her full-force.

She fell to the ground, screaming and crying all at once.

Her bones popped as they broke apart and put themselves together again into a different shape. She could feel something sprout from her head and face, but she did not particularly care at the time. Her blood boiled and burned, sending searing pain throughout her body. But her eyes, oh, her eyes. They hurt the most. The core of the pain seemed to rush to her eyes. She honestly believed that nothing else would hurt more.

The pain finally stopped, and she opened her eyes.

A mistake.

A pair of menacing crimson eyes stared right back at her, peering deep within her soul. They were the eyes of Death. Nyla closed her eyes with a shriek, and faintly noted something wet on her face.

Maniacal laughter a few feet in front of her got her attention. Nyla clenched the dagger tight, and with hardly a thought, charged at the source of the laughter, weapon held high.

The laughter stopped abruptly, but continued as a gurgled cry. This was followed by a loud thud. Nyla found she was on the ground, dagger still in hand. Her hands were covered with blood, whose it was, the elf could not tell. She had a strange urge to lick them clean.

Bizarre moans, groans, and sounds of bone on metal alerted Nyla to the skeletal guardians. They guarded the wizard and his subjects against any who harm them.

Nyla had harmed the wizard.

It was now their duty to kill her.

Nyla panicked, and did what anyone else in her situation would do: run for her life.

She ran blindly, often running into walls and the such, but eventually, found her way out. She ran, and ran, and continued running even when the guardians had stopped. When she got to the Imperial city, she did not stop; for all she could hear was her own heavy gasps.

When she finally crashed into someone, Nyla simply fell to the ground, unconscious. Her energy was spent on the miles of running, and now it was taking its toll on her.

* * *

Nyla is an Ainmhi, or at least, that's what she was turned into.

I really appreciate reviews and hope I get more then I do with my other stories.


	2. A Few Years later

Sunlight peeked in through the cracks of the velvet curtains. It continued along the room until it found a bed. The light came upon a face and softly tickled it awake.

Nyla woke with a loud yawn, annoyed with the pesky sun. She uncurled herself from her curled-up position on the soft covers, and arched her back in a stretch. Keeping her eyes closed, she fumbled around for a moment finding the bedside table. A piece of black cloth lay there, and she grabbed it and tied the fabric around her head. She also snatched up two hairties. Nyla carefully braided her purplish-red hair into two lengthy tresses. They knotted up at the top to form a sort of bun, and hung down low.

That finished, Nyla hopped off her bed and promptly ran into the wall. She toppled backwards, and some stray armor partially cushioned her fall. Thankfully, her cloth armor was on top. She took the spikier leather armor and put it on, with a long grey tail poking out the back.

The hybrid wandered out of the inn and into the street, bumping into things more often then not. She was still getting used to being blind. Every time she opened her eyes, she would see the eyes of Death. To help keep them closed, Nyla wore a strip of fabric over her eyes.

Nyla arrived at the Imperial Arena, and walked into the Bloodworks. When she closed the door behind her, her mind instantly cleared and she let out a sigh of content. There was a stark difference in the air on either sides of the door. One side smelled of newly bloomed flowers, and on the other was the metallic scent of spilled blood.

She continued her trek, miraculously missing the spiky death-trap training equipment. She made her way over to where she could hear the faint breathing of an old woman.

"So," Nyla started, to get the Battle Matron's attention, "What am I fighting today? Some wild boars? Maybe a goblin?"

Ysabel chuckled, an odd sound, "No, not today. Today, you get to fight two goblins and a wolf. Think you can handle it?"

Nyla smirked, "Have I been known not to?"

* * *

I can't think of anything more. Can someone please give me suggestions? I really want a review. Twice an hour, every hour I'm awake and at home, I refresh my email to see if I have any reviews. To me, getting a review is like Christmas. It fills you with a warm fuzzy feeling.

So please, I'm begging you, review this story...

Please...

T_T

* * *

You sit quietly at your computer, reading my plea. You might be listening to music, but let's just say you are not.

As you read, you have this uncomfortable sense that you are not alone. You look around the room, but there is nothing. You decide it was just your imagination. But as you turn back to your computer, the feeling doesn't go away.

You finish reading my plea, and just to spite me, _don't_ review. You go to another website. Just as it starts loading, something happens.

Your head is yanked back and cold steel is pressed against your throat. You dare not utter a word, for the wrong thing would most definitely result in death.

A deep rumple, reminiscent of a cat's purr, comes from behind you.

"You were just about to review, _right?" You could almost hear the blood lust in the voice. The dagger is pressed a bit harder against your soft neck, bringing forth a drop of blood._

_The site stopped loading. _

_You slowly press the back button on the page, and then click on the review button._

_"That's a good reader," The voice purred. _

_The dagger slowly retracted as this was said, and you are left gasping for breath, wondering if that was all just a dream...._


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